The copper kettle in the firepit bubbled and gurgled, filling the small cabin with a brief silence as the water boiled.
Hagrid glanced left and right, sniffing the remaining biscuits with a puzzled look when he noticed no changes in himself.
Outside, a deep, thunderous bark echoed. A black boarhound was trudging through the edge of the pumpkin patch.
"Fang!" Hagrid exclaimed, rushing out of the cabin. "I reckon Fang's back. He's a gentle soul—you'll like him."
And just like that, Sean was left alone in the cabin.
He stared out at the pumpkin patch for a long moment, his mind drifting to the giants' remarkable ability to weaken magic. Their thick skin acted like natural armor, deflecting or dampening the power of spells.
In Order of the Phoenix, when Umbridge from the Ministry tried to oust Hagrid from Hogwarts, she brought Aurors to forcibly remove him. Professor McGonagall, shielding Hagrid, was hit by multiple spells and gravely injured. Hagrid, on the other hand, took several curses without a scratch and still managed to break through their ranks.
There were other examples too—like the Battle of the Astronomy Tower, where Hagrid faced a group of Death Eaters. Their spells barely fazed him, and they only managed to distract him by setting his cabin on fire.
These moments proved one thing: ordinary spells or transformations couldn't touch a giant.
So, Sean figured, he'd need to up the dose.
He reached into his bag and pulled out his entire stock—five Kneazle transformation biscuits.
They used to be called Mrs. Norris Biscuits, but the name was changed for easier marketing.
The door creaked open. Behind a pile of feed sacks and pet supply crates, a massive figure appeared, leading a fierce-looking black boarhound.
"Looks like Fang's taken a shine to you," Hagrid said, letting Fang go. The dog immediately bounded toward Sean, trying to lick his ears. Despite his appearance, Fang was clearly as gentle as Hagrid.
As Sean conjured a bone with a quick transfiguration spell and tossed it out, Hagrid popped another biscuit into his mouth. Predictably, nothing happened.
"I reckon these biscuits just don't work on me. No worries, kid—I'm used to it," Hagrid said, though his expression was pitifully disappointed.
He eyed the remaining biscuits, clearly wondering what would happen if he ate all three different ones at once. A stag's head, cat claws, and owl wings, maybe?
"You can't eat them together," Sean warned quietly.
Each biscuit carried his unique magical intent. Eating them together? Even Sean, their creator, couldn't predict the outcome. But chances were, the conflicting magical wills would clash, rampaging through the user's body like a magical outburst.
"Oh, 'course not, 'course not! Who'd be daft enough to eat 'em all at once?" Hagrid chuckled nervously, wilting under Sean's steady gaze. "As long as there's no trouble, I'm countin' my lucky stars."
He grabbed the biscuit box in a hurry, too flustered to care about much else.
"I've got more," Sean said.
Hagrid froze mid-motion, biscuit in hand, unsure whether to eat it or put it down. His face flushed red.
"Er, my stomach's not feelin' too great right now," he mumbled.
The stone firepit in the center of the cabin was over a meter wide, and Hagrid lifted the giant copper kettle off it. It wasn't time to brew anything, but he clearly wanted to keep himself busy.
Sean handed over his last five biscuits. Hagrid, despite his eager expression, hesitated.
"These look right valuable. Must've been tough to get so many with all those wizards clamoring for 'em. If you give 'em all to me, what'll you have left to play with?" Hagrid asked, rubbing his hands together and glancing at Sean.
It was tough. If Manager Gurt found out Sean had this much stock, she'd have his head. Her collection owl hadn't even shown up yet today, and that owl's temper rivaled Errol's.
Sean shook his head. "Give it a try. It's fine."
Hagrid, convinced it was his lucky day, wolfed down all five biscuits in a few bites, then patted his stomach and winked at Sean.
"Blimey, I never thought I'd get to turn into an animal! Merlin's beard—thanks, Sean. And thanks to that alchemist genius who invented these biscuits. If I ever meet 'im, I'm sendin' him some rock cakes!"
As Hagrid rambled, blissfully unaware he was thanking Sean twice, Sean stayed quiet, waiting alongside him for something to happen.
Different wizards transformed into different variations of the same animal. Some might become a black cat, others a white one.
Could that transformation be guided?
The question popped into Sean's head. There were plenty of cat breeds—Norwegian Forest Cats that thrived in the cold, Maine Coons, or even Sand Cats from the desert. Magic was like that: the more you understood and mastered, the stronger it became. Sean tucked the idea away for later.
As he pondered, Hagrid's excited grin faded. Fur sprouted on his face—cat fur—and then… nothing.
An awkward silence settled over the room. Hagrid touched the fur on his face.
"Well, at least it's something, right?" he said with a weak chuckle.
A chilly breeze swept through the Forbidden Forest, rustling the pumpkin patch outside.
Sean sighed. Apparently, being too resistant to magic wasn't always a good thing.
Just as Hagrid gave up hope, a fierce-looking owl streaked across the gray-blue sky, crashing into the cabin's window with enough force to fling it open.
"Blimey, that's one tough owl!" Hagrid said, impressed, as he recognized the red envelope it dropped—a Howler.
Sean grabbed it, noticing the corners already starting to smoke. If he didn't open it soon, there'd be trouble.
The Howler's voice boomed:
"Dear Boss, if you want your joke shop to survive the holidays without angry wizards tearing it apart, SEND ME SOME TRANSFORMATION BISCUITS! Five whole days, and I've gotten NOTHING but word that you're 'busy'! I hope a legendary alchemist like you, practically on par with Nicolas Flamel, remembers that little shop in Diagon Alley—and the poor witch running it, who's about to lose her mind to rabid customers!"
The Howler's deafening voice faded as it burst into flames and burned to ash.